#Like I said. Thinking about nothing at all. Nope. Nada.

[bloodied-dagger]

And in the end, I’d do it all again I think you’re my best friend Don’t you know that the kids aren’t all- Kids aren’t alright

[gguk-n]

Wheels of Desire (Fernando Alonso x Lance Stroll's friend!Reader)

Summary- Finding an older man attractive is the oldest rule in the book, what if said older man is a little hesitant?

{Reader's POV}

Lance and I had recently made acquaintance through our fathers a few months ago. Since we were closer in age, we started to get along quite well. That's how I found myself at the Canadian Grand Prix. Did I know anything about cars? Nope. Did I know anything about Formula One? Nada. But was I supportive friend? Debatable. My dad wanted me at the race, I have an inkling they are trying to set me and Lance up but I believe that ship sailed a long time ago since he already has a girlfriend. That's Lance's burden to bear not mine, I'm here to keep up appearances.

I had the Aston Martin paddock pass slightly sway along as I strode to the hospitality. I did not know anyone here and that asshole didn't even come to greet me at the entrance. As I walked in, I spotted Lance. I smacked the back of his head, "You knew I came here for you, yet you wouldn't even come and greet me" I whined. "I thought you were a big girl" he laughed giving me a hug. "Whatever" I mumbled when my eyes met the man in front of me, who was also dressed in the same shirt as Lance. "Fernando, this is Y/N Y/L/N. Y/N, this is Fernando Alonso, my teammate" Lance introduced us. I smiled at him and shook his hand.

I pulled Lance to the side before whispering, "I didn't know your team was this hot" "He's old enough to be your dad." he pointed out. "He isn't my dad and my dad's way older than him" I explained. "Y/N come on" he whined. "Listen, you don't have to do anything, I'm pretty enough to handle it on my own, my only qualm is you hid that beautiful Spanish man from me" I said flipping him off. "How do you know he's Spanish?" he quizzed. "Accent and name, pay attention Strulovich" I sighed. "Now, if you'll excuse me I have a hot man to woo" I whispered and sauntered over to Fernando.

It was tragic honestly, even I could tell the way I was practically throwing myself at Fernando at this point and this man wouldn't even bat an eye. My spirit was starting to run low. But I wasn't giving up just yet, the weekend had just started and I had 2 more days.

Lance took me out to dinner to cheer me up. "In your defence, Fernando probably likes older women not infants" Lance chided. "I hate you" I seethed. "You're just hangry, here have a bite" he said placing a forkful of pasta in my mouth. "You do know how to cheer me up, Lancey" I hummed chewing on the food.

The dinner from last night made it on the tabloid, here, I am trying to woo Fernando and the tabloids are running a story of me and Lance. I think I might have to have a strongly worded letter with the said media houses.

Fernando seemed even more off than the last day; my jokes weren't landing, I couldn't even make him smile at this point. I found myself subconsciously chewing on my lower lip. "You're bleeding" Fernando said holding up a tissue to my lips. His fingers brushed past my lips and now sat on my chin as he added pressure to the wound. "What's got you so anxious?" Fernando asked. "Nothing" I shook my head. "Don't move, yet" Fernando reprimanded holding my head from the back in place with his other hand. I stood still, my brain running a 100 miles an hour, my eyes scanning his face which had creased in focus and his eyes laced with worry. He slowly moved his hand away to see the blood had stopped, I wish it hadn't. All I could think about was how maybe Fernando held your head as he kissed you aggressively.

Fernando left to talk to his engineers. I stood there staring at him until Lance came and closed my mouth. "You're drooling" he chided. "I mean how can I not? Look at him?" I chuckled. Lance just shook his head and walked away.

I spent the whole night formulating but I never came up with anything to at least peak Fernando's interest in me. None of my flirting was working.

I walked into the hospitality with my head down, it was Fernando who greeted me. "You don't look so good" he remarked. "Yeah, I didn't sleep much" I replied. "What's on your mind?" he asked. "Nothing, it's stupid" I brushed him off. "If it was that stupid why'd you stay up thinking about it?" Fernando quizzed. I felt so stupid and annoyed. Before I could open my mouth, Lance had come with a cup of coffee my saving grace. I moaned as I took a large sip from the cup. "You are the best" I said, warming my hands up against the cup. The weather had gotten colder due to the rain and the clothes I had worn were covered in a thin sheet of cold mist.

I watched them move about the hospitality get ready for the race, my eyes lingering on Fernando longer. I had only found out about him 3 days ago and right now, he was taking up an unprecedented amount of space in my head.

I tried to flirt with him as the day progressed but it seemed futile. He would brush me off or just laugh it off. I was starting to lose all hope. I lost all my hope at the end of the day when the team was packing up after the race. "You staying or leaving?" Lance asked. "I have a dinner date with your parents tomorrow and then I'll leave" I said. "Have fun" he remarked. "Aren't you coming too?" I asked. "Nope, I have plans" he said winking at me. I saw Fernando looking at me with sad eyes; I felt weird.

I was out at a bar finishing up my mocktail when I felt some one sit next to me. I turned around to find Fernando. "Hi" I greeted him with a smile. "I thought you were having dinner with Lance's family" Fernando pointed out. "Ah, that's tomorrow. I'm....free today" I said. Fernando seemed like he sighed a sigh of relief but I could be hallucinating. "I'll your finest wine and for the lady" he began now looking at me, "No, I'm good. I'll be leaving now" I said gathering my stuff. "huh....stay" he whispered in the moment the song changed.

I was shocked but I sat back down. "Why?" I asked. "You look like you don't want to be alone" he commented taking a sip of his wine. "I would like company, if I am being honest" I stated. "If you don't mind an old man's company, I'm here" he shrugged his shoulder. "You're not old and I would love your company" I smiled. "Did you drive here?" I asked. "No, taxi" he said. "Great! I'll have your finest champagne" I told the bartender. The two of us sat there enjoying each other's company.

After a while, we decided to exit the bar together; Fernando had called a cab and offered to drop me back. I'm not sure if it was the close proximity in the cab or the alcohol but when our fingers brushed I felt electricity course through me. I turned to see if he felt the same and he must've since he was staring at me. Without a second thought I crashed my lips against his. It took me a moment to realise but when I did, I suddenly pulled away, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that" I mumbled trying to put as much distance between us. "I...I....I thought you liked Lance" he muttered. "What? Eww!! He's like a brother to me. I've been trying to flirt with you since I laid eyes on you" I explained. "Really?" He asked. "Oh My God, did you think I'm that friendly to everyone?" I retorted. "I don't know" he mumbled running a hand through his hair. "Don't you think it's weird since I'm so much older than you?" he asked. I just shrugged, "I don't really look at people's ages" He looked hesitant. "Fernando, I wanna go on a date with you, I wanna date you, I wanna be your girlfriend, maybe" I spoke loud and clear. His mouth opened and closed a few time, "It's okay, take your time. Can I have your number though?" I asked hopeful. He took my phone entered his number and as the taxi driver pulled up to my hotel, Fernando pulled me in for a kiss. "I'm not completely sure but I think I want to go out on a date with you too" he muttered with a smile. "I'll be in Spain next month, see you then" I whispered kissing his cheek and exiting the taxi.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Provenance | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, j e a l o u s y

Word Count: 6703

A/N: Taglist will be closing at the start of season 2! if you aren't currently tagged, and you'd like to join, please please let me know within the next two posts!!

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You gripped your beer tightly watching Dean getting a girl’s number across the bar from you. 

“(Y/N), if you hold that thing any tighter, you’re gonna break it,” Sam snorted. “What’s your deal?”

You looked back at Sam but were unable to pull your eyes from Dean and his new “friend” for longer than a few seconds. “Nothing.” You took a swig of your drink.

“Are you sure you don’t know how you feel about Dean?” the brunet taunted. 

You shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

He snickered in response and returned to looking over the papers in front of him.

You waved Dean over, who held a hand up behind the woman’s back to get you to wait. You gestured again and his smile dropped. He said something to her quickly before making his way back over to you. 

“I think we got something,” Sam told his brother. 

Dean grinned over his shoulder. “Oh, yeah, me too. I think we need to take a little shore leave; just a little bit. What do you think, huh? I'm so in the door with this one.”

You rolled your eyes. “So, what are we today, Dean? Rock stars, army rangers?”

“Reality TV scouts,” he grinned at you, ignoring the bite in your voice. “Looking for people with special skills. I mean hey, it's not that far off right?”

“If by ‘not far off�� you mean ‘completely off the mark,’ then you’re spot on,” you deadpanned.

Dean shot you a look while he turned to his brother. “By the way, she's got a friend over there. Possibly hook you up. What do you think?”

“Dean, no thanks, I can get my own dates,” Sam responded to his question.

“Yeah, you can, but you don't.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. What you got?”

“Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago. Throats were slit. There were no prints, no murder weapons, all—” He trailed off as his brother looked back at the women at the bar. 

“Dean!” you snapped your fingers at him.

He turned back. “Huh, what?”

“No prints, no murder weapons, all doors and windows locked from the inside,” Sam continued.

“Could just be a garden variety murder, you know, not our department,” Dean answered.

“No. Dad says different.”

“What do you mean?” Dean’s interest was piqued at the mention of his dad.

You pointed at the map. “John noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one here in 1912, second, right here in 1945, and the third in 1970. Same M.O. as the Telescas. Throats slit, doors locked from the inside; the whole nine. Now, so much time passed that nobody checked the pattern. Except for your dad. It’s frustrating how much better he is at this than me sometimes,” you muttered at the end of your sentence.

“Alright, I'm with ya. It's worth checking out. We can't pick this up ‘til first thing though right?” Dean asked, trying to contain his excitement.

“Yeah,” Sam answered.

“Good.” Before you could stop him, Dean was off to the two women again.

You were fuming; staring daggers at him and downing the rest of your drink.

Sam snickered at you. “Let’s get you out of here before you end up killing one of those girls.”

“Nah, I’d kill your brother. They didn’t do anything wrong,” you responded, helping Sam pick up the papers scattered about the table. “How ‘bout the Telescas’ house?” you asked.

***

You and Sam headed back to the motel you were staying in to research the history of the Telescas’ home. You sprawled out across Dean’s bed with your laptop, and Sam sat on his bed with his laptop.

“Finding anything?” you asked him.

“Nope. You?”

You shook your head. “Nada.”

He shut his laptop. “So? You wanna talk about it?”

You shut yours, too. “About what?”

“Dean?”

“Oh, hell no,” you snorted.

“You two are made for each other,” he deadpanned at your boxed-up emotions.

“Fuck off, Sam,” you retorted. “What about you? Still not ready to jump back into the dating pool?” You snuggled into the blankets on Dean’s bed, reveling in his scent emanating off them.

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What was she like?” you asked after a moment.

“Who?”

“Jessica. You never told me much about her.”

He sighed. “She was just… the best, man. You two would’ve gotten along great, honestly. She was—” he grinned sadly at the thought of her, “—so smart. So beautiful. Quick, witty, and…” he shook his head. “I was looking for wedding rings. Few weeks before she...”

You smiled sadly at him. “She sounds amazing.”

“She was,” he responded. A quiet settled over the room.

“Don’t you think she would’ve wanted you to be… I don’t know, happy? Do you think she’d want you to move on? It’s been almost a year,” you said. “Jesus, I’ve known you guys for almost a year now," you realized.

He chuckled before going quiet again momentarily. “I think she would. But Jess… I don’t know if I’ll ever be fully over her. She was my best friend, y’know?”

You nodded. “I get it. I’m glad you had that with her, though. Sounds like you really loved each other.”

“We did.”

You and Sam went silent once more, and you succumbed to the tiredness of your limbs and mind. You were so comforted by the scent of worn leather, Dean’s cologne, and whiskey, that you slept better than you had in years.

***

When you woke up the next morning, Sam was standing over you, shaking you gently. You popped up and grabbed his wrist, twisting it and putting a hand to his throat. “Hey, hey,” he tried to calm you down, “Dean’s back.” 

You released him immediately. “Sorry, dude. Uh… reflexes,” you laughed awkwardly.

“It’s okay. Dean does that, too.”

The man in question stumbled into the room tiredly. “Move your asses. Let’s go.”

***

You and Sam had just swept the Telescas’ house for EMF while Dean slept in the car trying to get over his hangover. When you returned to the car, you beeped the horn. Dean shot up a foot in the air and groaned. 

“Man, that is so not cool.” He adjusted his sunglasses and leaned back against the car door. You and Sam climbed into your seats and began to explain what you had been up to.

“We just swept the Telescas with EMF. It's clean. And last night, while you were, well, out—” Sam trailed off.

Dean’s smirk made your stomach drop. “Good times.”

“—we checked the history of the house.”

“Nothing strange about the Telescas, either,” you said, swallowing your feelings.

“Alright,” Dean’s gravelly voice came, “so if it's not the people and it's not the house, then maybe it's the contents. Cursed object or something.”

“The house is clean,” you said.

“Yeah I know, you said that.”

“No, no, it’s empty. No furniture, nothing,” you explained.

Dean turned back to you. “Where's all their stuff?”

***

You felt so out of place in the swanky auction house the Telescas’ belongings had been brought to. Even the Impala looked like an outcast in the parking lot full of McLarens and Corvettes. 

You and the brothers wandered around the auction house, and you wrapped your jacket tightly around yourself.

“Consignment auctions, estate sales. Looks like a garage sale for Wasps if you ask me,” Dean commented. He took some food from a tray table as a man came up behind you.

“Can I help you?” the man questioned. 

You wheeled around to face him.

“I'd like some champagne please,” Dean said in a mock posh voice.

You could’ve killed him. “He’s not a waiter.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow at you, and you held out your hand to the man. “I’m (Y/N) Dewitt. This is Sam and Dean Connors. We’re with Connors Limited. We’re art dealers.”

The man didn’t give you the courtesy of a handshake. You fought the urge to make an inappropriate comment.

“You. Are… art dealers,” the man said, clearly having difficulty grasping that concept. “I'm Daniel Blake, this is my auction house. Now, this is a private showing, and I don't remember seeing you on the guest list.”

“We're there, Chuckles, you just need to take another look.” Dean, of course, talked through a mouth full of food.

You shot a sharp look at Dean as he took a glass of champagne off the tray. He turned and walked off, and you followed him.

“Can you chill out?” you asked him.

“What?” he asked through a mouthful of champagne.

You rolled your eyes. “You know what I’m talking about. I don’t like this crowd either, but relax.” You noticed a painting just beyond where you and Dean were talking. It was of a family in an American Gothic style; presumably from the early 1900s. The family contained three young girls in frilly dresses, a man with a gaunt and creepy face, and a woman you assumed was the mother seated in a chair.

“A fine example of American Primitive wouldn't you say?” a woman’s voice called from behind you.

You turned to the place the voice came from to find an extremely good looking woman in a sleek black dress with glossed lips descending the staircase. You noticed Dean beginning to ogle her as Sam answered her. “Well, I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses. But you knew that, you just wanted to see if I did.”

The woman smiled as she approached you. “Guilty. And clumsy. I apologize. I'm Sarah Blake.”

“I’m Sam,” he said. “This is my… brother, Dean.” Dean was still stuffing his face with food from passing trays. “And our friend, (Y/N).”

“Dean. Can we get you some more mini-quiche?” Sarah questioned.

You snorted. You liked her.

“I'm good, thanks,” he smiled through a full mouth.

“So, can I help you with something?” she asked Sam. You knew she liked him; she was giving him the same look you often gave Dean.

“Yeah, actually. What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?” Sam asked her.

She grimaced. “The whole thing's pretty grisly if you ask me, selling your things this soon. But Dad's right about one thing, sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones.”

“Is it possible to see the provenances?” Sam asked.

The man from earlier came up behind you. “I'm afraid there isn't any chance of that.”

“Why not?” you asked.

“You're not on the guest list. And I think it's time to leave.”

You rolled your eyes, dropping your polite disposition. “Don’t have to tell us twice.”

“Apparently, I do,” he said.

“C’mon, Dean,” you said, dragging his arm out.

***

You and the brothers found a decently priced motel and approached the rooms you had been assigned.

“Grant Wood, Grandma Moses?” Dean scoffed at his brother.

“Art history course. It's good for meeting girls,” Sam replied simply.

Dean unlocked the door to his room and chuckled. “It's like I don't even know you.”

You walked a little further down to the room next to theirs and unlocked it only to find a gaudily outfitted room full of obnoxious disco decor. The "do not disturb" hanger was even of John Travolta’s silhouette from Saturday Night Fever.

“Huh.” You dropped your bag off and headed back to the boys’ room.

“What was… providence?” Dean was asking as you entered the room.

“Provenance,” you corrected. “It’s like a biography for a painting. You use ‘em to check the history of the pieces; in this case, to see if they have a freaky past.”

“Alright, professor,” Dean taunted you. “Well, we're not getting anything out of Chuckles, but Sarah…” he smirked at his brother.

“Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin,” Sam smirked back.

“Not me,” Dean laughed.

You shot a look at Sam, too.

He seemed only mildly horrified. “No, no, no, pickups are your thing, Dean.”

“It wasn't my butt she was checking out,” Dean snorted.

You giggled despite yourself.

“In other words, you want me to use her to get information,” Sam deadpanned.

“Sometimes you gotta take one for the team. Call her,” Dean instructed his brother.

Sam rolled his eyes, but took out his phone. You weren’t sure when he had gotten her number, but he left about an hour later to take her out to dinner.

You and Dean sat in awkward silence for a bit.

“So…”

“So…”

You went silent again. 

“What’s goin’ on with us, (Y/N)? You’ve barely spoken a word to me this whole trip.”

You huffed. “Nothing.”

“Obviously, it’s not nothing.” Dean held your challenging stare.

“Seriously, drop it, please,” you said.

“Fine. You wanna go get some food?”

You smiled despite yourself. “You know I do.”

You and Dean found a crappy diner with deliciously greasy burgers to stuff your faces with. 

“So, how ‘bout you, sweetheart? Why don’t you ever go out?” Dean asked.

“On dates, you mean?”

He nodded.

You nibbled on a fry. “I’m just not one for hookups. I can’t take ‘em,” you admitted. “You, though, are king of the unattached drifters.”

He chuckled. “What’s wrong with hookups? 

“I get too attached, which kind of defeats the whole purpose,” you replied. “The idea of being intimate with somebody I don’t even know makes me want to throw up.”

“Why? You’re gorgeous. Anybody would kill to get with you," he said casually.

You ignored the way your heart swelled in your chest. “It’s not that, it’s just…” you sighed. “I’m, like, allergic to vulnerability.”

“I get it,” Dean chuckled. “You know by now I’m not exactly the best with it, either.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re worse than me,” you quipped. “You look like you’re gonna throw up any time you have to tell me you’re sorry or something like that.”

“Maybe it’s just your face,” he retorted.

“Hey!” you giggled. “You can’t call me gorgeous one minute then tell me looking at me makes you sick the next.”

He chuckled. “I just did, so…”

“Whatever, Winchester. What is it about hookups you enjoy so much, anyway?”

He shrugged and took a bite of his burger. “Sex is just fun, I guess. Always helps me blow off steam.”

You scoffed. “I’m sure it does.”

“I’m serious! Helps me take a break from… all this.” He gestured around him. 

“That’s why you have hobbies, Dean. Sex is not a hobby.”

“It can be! You draw, Sam reads, I fuck."

“Well, get a better one,” you scoffed.

“What would you suggest I do? Knitting?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, just… something a little more wholesome, maybe. You said it yourself, it doesn’t always make you feel great.”

“Never should’ve told you that,” he responded.

“Well, ya did, so.”

He snorted at you. “It’s frustrating how well you know me sometimes.”

“Oh, look at that, another crumb of vulnerability from Mr. Closed Book.”

“That’s the best diss you could come up with?”

“Hey, it’s not easy being effortlessly funny all the time,” you retorted. “It’s a lot of pressure.”

***

When you and Dean returned to the motel room, you pulled out your whetstone to sharpen your knives.

“Who you plannin’ on carvin’ up, sweetheart?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” you answered.

“Remind me not to piss you off,” he remarked.

“You do literally all the time,” you quipped. “You’re lucky you’re still in one piece. If you give me yours, I’ll sharpen ‘em, too.”

“Thanks,” he said. He handed his knives over to you. 

Sam burst through the door at that moment holding a stack of papers. “Got ‘em.”

“So she just handed the providences over to you?” Dean questioned.

“Provenances,” you corrected.

“We went back to her place, I got a copy of the papers—”

Dean raised his eyebrows expectantly. “And?”

“And nothing. That's it. I left.”

“You didn't have to con her or do any… special favors or anything like that?” Dean questioned.

“Dean, would you get your mind out of the gutter, please?” the younger brother scoffed.

“You know when this whole thing's done, we could stick around for a little bit,” he suggested.

“Why?”

“So you could take her out again. It's obvious you're into her, even I could see that.”

Sam ignored his brother. “Hey, I think I've got something here.”

You headed over to Sam’s seated position at the desk and looked over his shoulder at the papers. “ ‘Portrait of Isaiah Merchant's family, painted 1910’,” you read off.

“Now, compare the names of the owners with my dad's journal,” Sam said.

Dean pulled it out. “First purchased in 1912, Peter Simms. Peter Simms murdered 1912. Same thing in 1945. Oh, same thing in 1970.”

“Then stored, until it was donated to a charity auction last month. Where the Telescas bought it,” Sam continued.

“So what do you think? It's haunted? Or cursed?” you asked.

“Either way, it's toast,” said Dean, getting up from his bed.

***

Under the cover of night, you and the brothers broke into the auction house. You were consistently impressed with and sexually frustrated by how easy scaling tall fences and gates were for Dean. 

“Come on!” Dean urged you. 

You disarmed the security alarm, wearing gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints. “Go ahead,” you whispered. 

Dean picked the lock at your cue. You shone your flashlight ahead of you searching for the painting. When you found it, you and the boys were in and out within minutes. You and the boys had clearly been breaking and entering for years. You found it comical almost how good you were. You brought the painting out to a field behind the arthouse and set it alight.

Dean dusted off his hands. “Ugly ass thing. If you ask me, we're doing the art world a favor.”

***

Dean banged on your door the next morning. “We got a problem. I can't find my wallet.”

You opened it. “How the hell do you lose your wallet?”

“I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night.”

“Fuck, dude, that’s bad.” You started pulling on your boots as he paced around the room.

“Yeah, I know. It's got my prints, my ID— well, my fake ID anyway. We gotta get it before someone else finds it. Come on.”

You and the brothers hurried around the auction house searching for the wallet. Sam was clearly frustrated with his brother until he caught sight of Sarah.

“Hey guys!” she smiled.

You wheeled around at the sound of her voice and attempted to act cool.

“Sarah! Hey,” Sam breathed. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Ahh, we.... we are leaving town and, you know, we came to say goodbye,” Sam responded.

“What are you talking about Sam, we're sticking around for at least another day or two,” Dean grinned as he strolled up to the two. He took his wallet out of his pocket and shot a look at Sam. “By the way, I'm gonna go ahead and give you that $20 I owe you.” He turned to Sarah. “I always forget, you know.” Dean chuckled and you grinned as he held out the cash to his brother. Sam took it and glared at him. “Well, we’ll leave you two crazy kids alone, I gotta go do something… somewhere.”

“Smooth, Dean,” you told him as you walked away from Sarah and Sam. The two of you headed back out to the Impala and sat in it waiting for Sam. When he returned, he was frantically saying the painting was back in the auction house.

“I don't understand. We burned the damn thing,” Sam rushed out.

“Yeah, thank you, Captain Obvious,” Dean remarked. 

“Alright, we just need to figure out another way to get rid of it. Any ideas?” you chimed in.

“Well, um, in almost all the lore about haunted paintings it's always the painting's subject that haunts 'em,” Sam began.

“Yeah. So we just need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy-ass family and that creepy-ass painting. What were their names again?” 

“Merchant,” you answered. “I say we find us a bookstore.”

***

And so, that was where you headed. You found a proprietor whose personality was interesting, to say the least. You found his quirk had a bit of charm to it.

“You said the Isaiah Merchant family right?” he asked you.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Sam said.

You and Dean were flicking through a book with pictures of guns in it. The proprietor laid a book of newspaper clippings on the table in front of you. “I dug up every scrap of local history I could find. So, are you folks crime buffs?”

“Kinda. Yeah. Why do you ask?” you responded.

He held up the newspaper article before him. It talked about the sinking of the Titanic, and just next to it, read “Father Slaughters Family, Kills Himself.”

“Yes. Yeah, that sounds about right,” Dean replied.

“The whole family was killed?” You tilted your head.

“It seems this Isaiah, he slits his kids' throats, then his wife, then himself. Now, he was a barber by trade. Used a straight razor,” the proprietor explained.

“Why'd he do it?” Sam questioned.

“Let's look. Ahh... ‘People who knew him describe Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament. Controlled his family with an iron fist. Wife, uh, two sons, adopted daughter…’ “ he skimmed on. “Yeah, yeah, yeah… ‘There were whispers that the wife was gonna take the kids and leave.’ Which of course you know in that day and age, um, so instead, old man Isaiah, well, he gave them all a shave.” He drew his hand across his throat and made a noise to go along with it. You and Dean joined in laughing with the proprietor.

“Does it say what happened to the bodies?” asked Dean.

The proprietor shook his head. “Just that they were all cremated.”

“Anything else?” you asked.

“Yeah. Actually, I found a picture of the family. It's right here. Somewhere. Right— here it is.”

It was a picture of the painting, but something seemed off to you. 

“Hey, could we get a copy of this please?” Sam asked the man. 

He nodded, and returned a few minutes later with it.

***

You and the boys sat at a table in the motel room and looked over the copy of the picture. 

“I’m telling you,” you started, “The picture at the auction house, Dad’s looking down. Here, dad’s looking out. The painting changed.”

“Alright, so you think that Daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and is handing out Columbian neckties like he did with his family?” Dean questioned.

“Well, yeah, it seems like it. But if his bones are already dusted, then how are we gonna stop him?” Sam asked.

“Maybe other things changed in the painting, too. Maybe it could give us some clues,” you answered.

“What, like a Da Vinci Code deal?” Sam asked.

“Maybe,” you shrugged.

Dean looked down at you, confused. “I’m lost. Still waiting for the movie on that one. Anyway, we gotta get back in and see that painting.” He walked over to his bed and laid back, crossing his arms. “Which is a good thing ‘cause you can get some more time to crush on your girlfriend.”

Sam huffed. “Dude, enough already.”

“What?” he responded.

“What? Ever since we got here, you been trying to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, all right?” he said defensively.

“Sam, relax,” you told him.

“Well, you like her don't you?” Dean pushed.

Sam threw his arms up and looked to the ceiling.

“Alright, you like her, she likes you, you’re both consenting adults…” Dean trailed off with a smile.

“What's the point, Dean? We'll just leave. We always leave,” came Sam’s frustrated response.

“Well, I'm not talking about marriage, Sam.”

Sam snarled angrily. “You know, I don't get it. What do you care if I hook up?”

“ ‘Cause then maybe you wouldn't be so cranky all the time,” Dean answered calmly.

Sam stared at him and huffed before looking away.

“Look, I’m not crazy about hookups either, but maybe it would be helpful,” you suggested.

“And this isn't about just hooking up, okay?” Dean continued. “I mean, I think that this Sarah girl could be good for you. And... I don't mean any disrespect, but I'm sure this is about Jessica, right? Now I don't know what it's like to lose somebody like that, but... I would think that she would want you to be happy.” Sam’s eyes welled with tears as his brother continued to talk. “God forbid, have fun once in a while. Wouldn't she?”

“Yeah, I know she would,” Sam responded softly. “Yeah, you're right. Part of this is about Jessica. But not the main part.”

“What’s it about?” you asked.

He wouldn’t answer you.

“Well, we still gotta see that painting, which means you still gotta call Sarah, so…” Dean trailed off.

Sam picked up his phone and cleared his throat. Dean shook his head and closed his eyes, settling back on his bed. 

“Sarah, hey, it's Sam… Hey, hi… Good. Good, yeah. Umm. What about you?... Yeah good, good, really good.”

Dean opened one eye and looked at his brother. “Smooth.”

You suppressed a laugh. 

“So, ah, so listen,” Sam continued. “Me and my brother were, uh, thinking that maybe we'd like to come back in and look at the painting again. I- I think maybe we are interested in buying it… What?!” 

At Sam’s tone, you and Dean snapped to attention. 

“Who'd you sell it to?” Sam stood up. 

Dean rose and came to stand next to you.

“Sarah, I need an address right now,” Sam urged her.

Once she’d given it to you, you and the boys sped away in the Impala to an upscale neighborhood. You and the boys were surprised to see another car parked right outside the building: Sarah’s. 

“Sam, what's happening?” she asked as you and the boys ran up the front steps of the house.

“I told you, you shouldn't have come,” he responded.

“Hello, anyone home?” Dean banged on the heavy front door.

“You said Evelyn might be in danger; what sort of danger?” Sarah asked Sam frantically.

“I can't knock this sucker down. I gotta pick it.” Dean crouched down in front of you and you moved over to the windows, banging on them with all your might.

“What are you guys, burglars?” Sarah yelped.

“I wish it was that simple. Look, you really should wait in the car. It's for your own good,” Sam told her.

Dean got the door open and you followed him inside quickly. 

“The hell I will. Evelyn's a friend,” she said, trailing behind you and the boys. “Evelyn?” She moved over to the elderly woman sitting half-turned away from you. Something was wrong and you knew it; the woman’s gaze seemed completely empty. “Evelyn? It's Sarah Blake. Are you alright?” She touched her shoulder gently. 

“Sarah, don't. Sarah!” Sam told her. 

Evelyn’s head tipped back, exposing her slashed throat.

Sarah jumped back in horror and screamed. Sam put his arm around her and led her out of the room. You and Dean stared up at the painting before following the younger brother out of the house.

***

Back in the motel room, you and Dean clacked away at the keys on your laptops while Sam paced in front of you. A knock on the door stirred all of you from your thoughts. Sarah stormed into the room and brushed past Sam.

“Hey. You alright?” he asked her.

“No, actually, I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn's— alone— and found her like that,” she answered, wheeling around.

“Thank you,” Sam nodded. 

“Don't thank me. I'm about to call them right back if you don't tell me what the hell's going on. Who's killing these people?”

Sam looked back at you and Dean, and you shrugged.

“What,” he told her.

“What?”

“It's not 'who'. It's 'what' is killing those people,” he explained.

Sarah was still looking at Sam like he was insane.

“Sarah, you saw that painting move,” he sighed.

The woman began to pace. “No, no. I was— I was seeing things. It's impossible.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to our world,” Dean grinned.

“Sarah, I know this sounds crazy, but we think that that painting is haunted.”

Sarah laughed humorlessly but had tears in her eyes. “You’re joking.” She looked between you and the Winchesters. “You're not joking. God, the guys I go out with.”

“Sarah, think about it. Evelyn, the Telescas, they both had the painting. And there have been others before that. Wherever this thing goes, people die. And we're just trying to stop it. And that's the truth,” the brunet told her.

“Then I guess you'd better show me. I'm coming with you,” she said matter-of-factly.

“What? No. Sarah no, you should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous and… and I don't want you to get hurt,” he admitted.

“Look, you guys are probably crazy, but if you're right about this? Well, me and my Dad sold that painting that might have gotten these people killed. Look, I'm not saying I'm not scared, because I am scared as hell, but I'm not going to run and hide either.” Sarah strutted over to the door. “So are we going or what?” She walked out.

“Sam?” Dean said. “Marry that girl.”

***

You and the boys returned to Evelyn’s house to scope out the crime scene a little further. Sam picked the lock to let you, his brother, and Sarah inside.

“Uh, isn’t this a crime scene?” Sarah protested.

Dean smirked. “You've already lied to the cops. What's another infraction?”

Once inside, you and Sam got the painting down from off the wall to examine it. 

“Aren't you worried that it's gonna kill us?” Sarah asked.

“Nah, it seems to do its thing at night. I think we're alright in the daylight.”

You took the copy of the painting out of your pocket. “Sam, check it out. The razor: it's closed in this one, but it's open in that one.”

“What are you guys looking for?” she asked.

“Well, if the spirit's changing aspects of the painting, then it's doing so for a reason,” Dean explained.

“And look, the painting in the painting,” you pointed out. “Looks like a crypt, or a mausoleum or something.” 

Dean grabbed a thick glass ashtray and used it as a magnifying glass. You ignored how your body came alight as he wound his arm around you to reach the painting. “Merchant,” he read out.

***

Your next stop was a graveyard. Several, in fact. You stepped over gravestones carefully to avoid disrespecting the dead even further.

“What, are you superstitious?” Dean asked.

“A little, actually. I think I’m in such deep shit with the spirits already; I don’t wanna make it worse,” you laughed.

“You are somethin’ else, woman,” he smirked. “This is the third boneyard we've checked,” Dean addressed your group. “I think this ghost is jerking us around.”

Sam and Sarah talked amongst themselves behind you and you and Dean walked a bit ahead.

“Over there,” you said, pointing to a mausoleum. The group followed you into the mausoleum where you found four urns in front of little glass-fronted boxes on one wall. On the opposite, there were five brass nameplates. 

Sarah looked at one of the boxes containing a little porcelain doll with brown hair. “Okay, that right there is the creepiest thing I've ever seen.”

“It was a sort of tradition at the time,” Sam told her. “Whenever a child died, sometimes they'd preserve the kid's favorite toy in a glass case; put it next to the headstone or crypt.”

Wind blew in the mausoleum, sending a chill down your spine.

“Notice anything strange here?” Dean asked.

“Ah, where do I start?” remarked Sarah.

Sam snickered. 

“No, that's not what I mean. Look at the urns,” said Dean.

“Yeah. There’s only four. Where’s the dad?” you questioned.

***

You and Dean discovered that Isaiah’s body had been buried in that same cemetery away from the rest of his family. You returned there that night with Sarah in tow. 

You stood watch with Sarah while the boys dug the hole down to Isaiah’s corpse. 

“You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this,” she said.

Sam climbed out of the hole laboriously. “Well, ah, this isn't exactly the first grave we've dug. Still think I'm a catch?”

You giggled when Dean’s shovel tapped something hard. “Think I've got something.” He cracked the coffin open to reveal Isaiah’s rotten bones. You helped him out of the ground and began pouring salt and kerosene over the body. 

“You've been a real pain in the ass, Isaiah. Good riddance.” Dean tossed the match he’d struck down on top of the body. 

“God, I will never get used to that smell,” you commented.

“What? Burning flesh?” the older Winchester turned his head to you.

You made a face and scrunched up your nose to which Dean just smirked at you and chuckled.

***

You returned to Evelyn’s house soon after to make sure the job was complete and bury the painting. You and Dean remained outside and told Sam to go in with Sarah. You and Dean smiled at each other before turning the radio up. A love ballad played loudly through the speakers, and Sam turned to the two of you. You both snickered at the “what the fuck” gesture he was giving you. Sam motioned for the two of you to cut the music. You sighed and turned it off.

Before you and Dean could say a word to each other, the door slammed shut behind Sam and Sarah. You and Dean jumped out of the car and ran across the lawn, trying your best to unlock it. 

“Guys! Hey! Is that you?” Sam called from inside.

“Sammy, you alright?” the older brother asked. Moments later, you got a call from Sam.

“Tell me you slammed the front door,” you said after you answered.

“Nope, it wasn't me. I think it was the little girl,” he told you.

“The little girl? What girl?”

“What’s he saying?” Dean interjected, leaning close to your ear and the phone.

“Yeah, she's out of the painting. I think it might've been her all along,” Sam said.

You snorted humorlessly. “The dad was trying to warn us all along. He was looking down at her the whole time.”

“Hey, hey, hey, let's recap later all right? Just get us out of here," the younger brother rushed out.

“Well, Dean’s trying to pick the lock, but the door won’t budge.”

“Well, knock it down!”

“Okay, smartass, just let me get my battering ram,” you remarked.

“(Y/N), the damn thing is coming!”

“I know, I know, just hold it off til we figure something out. Get some salt or iron or something,” you responded. “Stay on the phone with me!”

Moments later, you heard Sam say to himself, “What kind of house doesn't have salt? Low-sodium freaks.” Another minute or so went by before he spoke back into the phone. “Uh, (Y/N), give me a sec, don't go anywhere.”

You and Dean began to walk around the outside looking for an alternative entrance. A bit of yelling and crashing was heard on the other end of the phone. “You okay, dude?”

“Yeah, for now,” he responded.

“How’re we gonna waste her?” you asked.

“I don't know, she was already cremated. There's nothing left to burn.”

Dean got close to the phone again. 

“Then how's she still around?” you challenged.

“There must be something else!” Sam went silent on the other end, but you could faintly hear Sarah’s voice.

“(Y/N), Sarah said the doll might have the kid's real hair. Human remains; same as bones.”

“The mausoleum,” you and Dean said in unison. 

“Hang tight, Sam,” you said, snapping your phone shut. You and Dean sprinted back to the car, and Dean drove as fast and as wildly as he possibly could.

“One of these days, your driving’s gonna fucking kill us all,” you said, gripping the leather of the seat next to you and the door. 

“Not now, (Y/N),” he responded evenly, driving even faster. He plowed straight through the fence of the cemetery and drove right up to the mausoleum. You and Dean jumped out of the car and hurried into the building.

Dean pounded the door of the glass box containing the doll with the butt of his gun, and then went to walk out of the mausoleum. “Come on, Dean,” he grimaced. “Cover your eyes!” He told you. He shot at the box, and you shielded your face as he did so. You leapt back into action and knocked away more of the glass with your hands, cutting them as you did so. You ignored the burning in your palms and took the doll out of its case. 

You held the doll’s hair over the lighter, which Dean was having trouble lighting. “Come on, come on!” he said. Thankfully, the lighter caught the hairs of the doll and sent it up in flames. You dropped it on the floor between you and Dean and watched the rest of the doll burn.

Dean pulled out his phone moments later to call his brother. “Sam, you good?” He breathed a sigh of relief and hung up the phone.

You looked down at your bloodied hands. Dean followed your gaze. “(Y/N), you maniac, what were you doin’ pawin' at that glass with your bare hands, huh?”

“It seemed like a good idea in the moment,” you mumbled.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?” He guided you back to the car. He held your wrists and sat you down in the front seat of his car. He went to his trunk and returned a few moments later. He sat next to you and gingerly began wiping down your hands. You hissed and grabbed his hand at the pain. He looked back up to you and paused momentarily.

“Sorry,” you said.

“All good,” he responded and went back to work. He gently cleaned your wounds with an alcohol-soaked rag and began to wrap up your left hand. You watched as he worked, heart swelling at the kind gesture.

“Thank you,” you said. 

“You’d do the same for me,” he muttered.

“I would,” you affirmed, smiling. 

He picked a piece of glass out of your right hand. You hissed again. 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he said. “This one’s probably gonna need stitches.” He handed you his flask. “Drink this.”

You did as told and took a sip, swallowing sharply as you felt the first prick of the needle in your palm. “I’m not trying to be a little bitch. I’m really not when it comes to pain,” you said. “I can finish stitchin’ me up on my own if you wanna get back to Sam—”

“No. Let me,” he responded authoritatively. He looked up through his eyelashes at you before returning his attention to your fingers. He ran his along yours and gingerly cleaned the cuts, giving special attention to the deeper ones before bandaging the exterior of your hands. You flexed them painfully.

“Thank you. Seriously,” you said softly.

“Any time,” he responded.

***

“This was archived in the county records. The Merchant's adopted daughter, Melanie. Know why she was up for adoption? 'Cause her real family was murdered in their beds," Dean explained to you. “Who'd suspect her? Sweet little girl. So then she kills Isaiah and his family. The old man takes the blame. His spirit's been trying to warn people ever since.”

“Huh,” you said. “Psycho bitch.”

He scoffed. “You know you’re talking about a kid, right?”

“Yeah. Psycho bitch all the same.”

You and Dean were waiting outside of the auction house for Sam to finish talking to Sarah. You and he leaned against the car, watching Sarah and Sam talking at the door. Sam turned away from her before turning back moments later. He grabbed Sarah’s waist and pulled him to her, kissing her deeply. 

“That's my boy,” Dean smiled.

“Alright, perv,” you remarked. You shoved him down into the car.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @rei0812 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @more-espresso-less-depresso-og @mysticmyth @favoritefandoms27 @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h

quite a few tags are broken; so sorry, my loves!! make sure you have my blog notifs on so you don't miss a chapter, and please let me know if ive misspelled your blog name!

[ky-yk]

out of time (kmj x f!reader)

genre: angst w/ a happy ending || word count: 1.9k author's note: i'd like to thank myself for making a playlist that's been creatively inspiring me recently and for being able to turn trauma into clout ANYWAYS hope y'all enjoy this one mwamwa

"okay, how're we feeling about this?"

you give yourself a once over in the mirror before turning to your sister for her opinion.

"i mean, it's giving date, you know?"

"really?" would she think so?

"it does. it looks great, but riddle me this: why are you trying so hard to look good?"

because i want her to see how much i've grown. how much...better i am than before. "because why not? you know me, i'm always dressing to impress."

"alright..." your sister trails off, giving you one last look that went unnoticed before going back to her phone and scrolling through her reels.

you grabbed your purse, double checking to see if everything you needed was there ("okay: wallet, id, charger, tissue...earphones alright i'm set") and made your way out the front door toward your car.

the drive was quiet with nothing but the hum of the engine and the weeknd's out of time filling the void. being the introvert you are, you enjoyed times like these. the world's too noisy, anyways; it was nice to let your thoughts run wild.

god, i can't wait to see her again. it's been, what, 3 years? since we last saw each other?

i wonder how this'll go, though. we haven't had a proper conversation in ages, coupled with the fact that i'm more of a listener than a talker, i just hope today will be fun.

but what if the conversation dies? good lord i'd rather shrivel up and die than have that happen--then again, though, we're friends: awkward silences should be comfortable. wait--are we friends? she said we could stay friends after the break up but everything i've heard from her has been secondhand; she never tells me things. she's also not obligated to tell me things anymore anyways but...the thought that i might not mean as much to her as she does to me still stings...

before you knew it, you'd arrived at the mall. shaking away all those thoughts, you got out of the car and started making your way to the mall entrance, all the while texting her.

y/n: heyy just arrived, wya?

min <3: yoo, im just at the music store. meet me here?

y/n: geurae, see ya soon!

with purpose in each step, you pocketed your phone and made your way over to the store where you both agreed to meet up. as you pulled up to the front, you caught a glimpse of the girl through the glass window with a racing heart. you've always imagined how your first meeting after so long would go, but nothing could've prepared you for the overwhelming weight on your chest seeing her in real life again -- even if it was just the back of her head.

you must've been shooting lasers at her skull because at once, she turned around and saw you. her eyes widened before a smile took over her whole face, turning her eyes into little crescents.

still as gorgeous as ever.

you returned the sentiment before you both started walking towards each other, meeting at the entrance of the music store. she opened her arms up, inviting you into a hug that ended right as it started. you tried to mask your disappointment at the fact you couldn't settle in and give her a proper bear hug when she pulled away and looked at you.

looked down at you, that is.

"my gosh, y/n, even after all this time you're still giving me neck problems!"

you looked back up at her, mouth wide in mock offense before you went in for the punch. "yah, watch it, kim minji."

"i'm kidding, im kidding! you know i missed you."

so did i.

"so, have you eaten yet?" minji asked, curiosity lacing her deep voice that still manages to have you swooning.

"nope. what about you?"

"nada. let's grab some lunch?"

"geurae."

walking in step with each other, you both started looking for possible restaurants that you both liked and also didn't dent your wallets. you settled on a cute little cafe that was pretty empty. you held the door open for her, which she then thanked you for.

"go find us a seat while i order."

"alright, i'll have a--"

"croissant and iced chocolate, right?"

"yeah..." i drink coffee now though.

even with all the free tables, you decided to take the one farthest away from the entrance. you took the couch seat so that you could put your things down beside you and stare from afar.

okay, you're doing good so far, y/n. just don't fuck this up and you'll get your girlfriend back. the small talk is small talking, it's not awkward, it's just like old times!

while you waited for minji to return to your table, you pulled your phone out and started scrolling through your instagram. you browsed through people's stories, giving them a once-over before clicking to the next one, until you reached minji's finsta account.

you found the account a long while after your break up. hesitant at first to shoot a follow request, you ended up asking for one to which she accepted a few days later.

once you made it in, you felt just a little bit closer to her again. she posted every second of every day about anything and everything: her favorite boy group, family troubles, and a potential crush.

when you first saw these stories, and every viewing afterward, you always exited the app, jumped up, and found something else to do. we're not together, so who cares if she had her eye on someone else? you'd always reason out. over the months, the ache in your heart started to weaken every time you'd see one of these stories, the promise of "if it's meant to be, it'll be" that you held so tightly onto stopped leaving callouses on your hand.

nonetheless, you still gripped on. every mention of her crush that resembled you even the slightest bit made you hold on even tighter until the next story.

out of the corner of your eye, you saw a tray being set on the table. you looked up at minji as she moved to transfer the food, hoping she could see the adoration that lingered in your eyes. you gave up, moving to help out instead when you saw that the tray's contents had just been unloaded onto your table. you pouted a little bit, taking your phone out to take a few pictures before putting it down and getting ready to dig in. as you ate, you and minji caught up on your families, friends, and new opportunities.

("wait, you're the new director of photography for your magazine? that's amazing, y/n!"

i was hoping you'd be proud of me; you were the one who pushed me to do this, is what you wanted to say.

what came out was a shy smile as you went to pick at your croissant instead, muttering a small "thanks, min.")

you talked about almost everything...except the new (old(?)) apple of her eye.

"so, has anyone caught your eye recently?"

you hesitated to ask for a plethora of reasons: she's your ex, and part of you didn't want to know the answer. then again, she was your friend too. don't friends talk about this stuff? you reasoned out.

she looked a little surprised, eyes wide and all, before she cleared her throat and started acting bashful. "i'm guessing you've seen my stories?"

"they're kinda hard to miss."

"yah!"

"i'm kidding! kinda. anyways, who is it?"

"why do you want to know?" she asked embarrassedly. because i want to know who i'm up against, i want to know if i'm better...i want to know where i fell short. "because we're friends, aren't we? i wanna know!"

"alright, alright. um...you know pham hanni?"

how could i not? she's the batch's ace: amazing singer, songwriter, all around artist, not to mention, extremely pretty.

she's everything i wish i was, is what i would've said.

"oh, i'm familiar with her, yeah," is what came out instead.

minji then stared going on about the details: why and when she started falling for the viet artist, how they got to know each other, and whether or not she stood a chance.

"i'm really confused because i feel like she's been sending me hints, but at the same time, i don't want to assume, you know?"

throughout all of this, you noticed how expressive and excited talking about the girl; how her eyes would light up just thinking about her. you thought the sight would make the rope around your heart tighten.

instead, you felt it loosen. like you were being set free.

you knew she was in good hands.

just not yours.

"well, what hints has she been dropping?"

"you know how we're both into music, right? that's how we got close?" you nodded. "every time she sends me song recommendations, they're always love songs. i mean, last time, it was would you be so kind? by dodie," you chuckled at how loud and rushed she'd gotten. "that's got to mean something, right?! tell me i'm not delusional."

months ago, you would've easily given in, telling her she was out of her mind. seeing her this happy, though? you had to be honest, especially after all those moments she filled you in on.

"well, from my expert opinion, i feel like you should go for it," you said without a single ounce of malice. you missed seeing her smile, regardless of the cause.

that, and you saw the vision.

you two kept talking about anything and everything until a certain hime cutted-girl approached your table. you looked up and saw the object of minji's affection. eyes wide, you greeted her hello. she returned the greeting with a bright smile. just like me, huh? she chose well. across from you, you saw minji beet red and covering her hair with her face.

"oh, are you guys hanging out?"

"yeah, but i was just about to leave, actually," you saw minji's eyes widen out of the corner of your eye as you stood to leave. "duty calls, you know?"

"so i've heard! congrats on that, by the way, you deserve it."

"thank you, hanni," you nodded in acknowledgement. "well, i'll leave you guys to it. the little mermaid's just come out, you guys should go watch it!"

"we just might. see you around, y/n!" you waved back at them, sending minji a look that held everything you were feeling before shooting her a wink and a smile and walking away.

the walk back to the car was quiet. as you switched on the ignition, your phone connected to the car immediately and started continuing where you left off with out of time before getting so rudely interrupted by a message notification. you picked your phone to read what it said.

min <3: i'm sorry our lunch got cut short, y/n, but i hope you had fun! i know i did hehe

you chuckled at the message.

y/n: no worries, min-ah. go get your girl! i'm happy for you.

you replied to her message before going into your contacts.

minji: thank you, y/n. know that i'll always be rooting for you. fighting!

a small smile took over your face as you put your phone down to drive off.

Say I love you, girl, but I'm out of time Say I'm there for you, but I'm out of time (no) Say that I'll care for you, but I'm out of time (hey) Said, I'm too late to make you mine, out of time (ah)

[nikethestatue]

Honestly no hate to e/riels but SJM said "it's obvious" in a book where we are being hinted at Gwyn's powers, Gwyn playing a major role and showcasing the extent of her powers when she helped Nesta find the harp (hello Nesta in acowar did the same), in a book where Gwyn and Azriel's reaction to each other are highlighted frequently and are positive and fun and they have banter and she makes his shadows dance. Then we have all the obvious build up for Azriel in acosf and hofas and he gets two bonus chapters. Gwyn's whole backstory and parentage is a mystery she still needs growth in terms of getting out of the library, reclaiming her body & sexuality and taking stand for herself. Like I think it really is obvious who the next book is for (hint it's our priestess and shadowsinger)

SJM did mention researching for elain's book but as we have seen a character gets buildup before they have their book (hello Nesta) but who did we have built up for? elain's power? Elain playing any role at all? Nope nada zilch, so really imo Elain's book will be finales.

So Anon, I am gonna drop a truth that you aren't going to like, because you've been so conditioned to think a certain way now. However, the truth is pretty simple--whose ton of casual readers don't even remember who Gwyn is.

She doesn't register. She DOESN'T MATTER. That's what it boils down to. YOU guys have concocted this version of Gwyn who carries a tremendous amount of weight. In reality, she doesn't. There is NOTHING about Gwyn that's more important than Emerie for example. But none of you are clamoring to read an Emerie book. Emerie, who btw, was in 2 books vs Gwyn's one.

Nothing that Gwyn's done extends to a larger story. The Valkyries--that's led by NESTA. Nesta ARCHERON. Like Elain ARCHERON. Both of whom were contracted by BB to be FMCs of SJM's novels. SJM did not sell anything to BB about Gwyn in 2015.

And Azriel is not getting an "Azriel Book' because freakin Rhysand did not get a book. He didn't even get a POV in the trilogy. So as much as we all find Azriel appealing, Azriel is getting a book with Elain Archeron, who literally has 12 different storylines attached to her. Whereas Gwyn has .....zero.

No person who picked up all of ACOTAR, read it back to back over 15 days, but hasn't been trawling through commissioned Gwynriel arts on IG, or listening to 'theories' from Gwynriels on TikTOk, came out of ACOSF saying 'yes, it's OBVIOUS that Gwyn's book is next!'

WHAT?

Listen, I find the whole Gwynriel thing rather amusing. I don't take it seriously and never have. It's just there like a blister. Irritating but you can still function. But you guys really bought into this and it's kind of concerning. You are Gwynriels unironically. Not like Draimonie, for example. Not like, listen we love the ship, but we know it wont sail. But we love it. (Totally cool, btw). But you seriously think that SJM will write a Gwyn book?

I don't know. After 4 years, I don't know what to say anymore.

Honestly, a Tamlin x Briar novella has more chances of happening than a Gwyn book.

[atranswomansdiary]

Day 126

October 9, 2020

“It is the end of all hope To lose the child, the faith To end all the innocence To be someone like me”

I… I don’t really know how to start this or even how to write about it. It’s… Everything is just so awful right now and, in a way, maybe I shouldn’t even be writing this, but I feel like if I don’t put down in words what happened this week I’m going to make one of those decisions with no return, one of those that you can’t take back once they're done.

Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? On Monday morning, tired and bored as I usually am when starting a new workweek, I looked at my WhatsApp and decided to delete some groups that we were no longer using. They were mostly coordination groups and, since the reason I created them are no longer was valid, I felt like deleting them was the right thing to do.

I know, I know. I can almost hear you saying, “No, you didn’t!” And you’re right. They weren’t occupying space or bothering me in any way… Except that they were there any time I opened the freaking app, reminding me of those painful things that I don’t want to think about right now, like the fact that J.N. and I are no longer friends, that most of the spaces and activities we shared together are now gone, and that there’s no turning back when it comes to our friendship.

And I think that gets to the bottom of the thing, the real reason why I decided to delete those WhatsApp groups. To help me close the wound and start the healing. And so I did.

And that’s where the shitstorm began.

Hours later, I.C. (a mutual friend of both J.N. and I) contacted me and told me that she had started a cancellation campaign against me. And to clear any doubts about it, she sent me some screenshots.

To say that those words and pictures froze me in place would be the understatement of the century. This had never happened in my life before, but I just lost all sense of reality for a little bit. I was at a meeting with my boss and I just couldn’t hear his words. For a moment, I felt like the only thing I wanted to do was to disappear, to dissolve right into the groind. To stop existing. I hadn’t felt this way since the day I tried to kill myself (and failed, obviously) almost 10 years ago.

Luckily for me, the meeting ended earlier and I got to walk across the company, from one building to another through the parking lot, under a warm midday sun. It wasn't strong enough, though, because I was shivering all the way through.

Once I got home, after work, I sat down and decided to say my piece. After all, J.N.’s poor opinion of myself was an isolated case, wasn’t it?

Oh, dear. I couldn’t have been more purposefully wrong if I had been trying to miss the mark.

One other person I considered close to me (not a friend per se, but someone that had expressed admiration and at least “good vibes”—as the youngsters say—towards me) not only supported J.N.'s accusations, but she seemingly had an axe to grind with me about something we never talked about, and made use of a public forum to do so instead of discussing it with me in private! I... I just had—and still don't have—any words

I was horrified and questioning all my life choices in the past few years at this point, so I did the only thing that I thought could bring me some kind of peace. I wrote to M.C. to ask her if she had heard about the whole debacle. And here I must confess that I was fishing for some reaffirmation and comfort. After all—and I think I’ve said this before—I think she's probably my closest friend. And you want to know what happened? She didn’t write back. Not a word or reaction or phone call. Fucking NOTHING. Zilch. Nada.

And that was my Monday.

Tuesday was a dead day. I went and came back from work and slept the rest of the day and night (thanks, sleeping pills!). I ocassionally checked to see if M.C. had said anything. Nope. Nothing. I started fearing the worst.

Then Wednesday came and she finally replied.

Her answer (as I should’ve expected by this point) was the most disappointing of all the dissapointing shit that I forcefully found out this week. She basically sided with J.N. (and the other person) and, as a result, I lost two of the people I’ve loved the most in the past few years in the span of three days.

And, if that weren’t enough—and considering this whole disaster—I just had to leave all the public spaces we shared. And I fucking loved being there! But I had to leave! I had no options. How could I have stayed there, knowing that not one but two people, whose opinion I deeply appreciated, thought of me (in short, that I was—am?—the worst of the worst, everything I’ve stood up against for most of my life)? There was no fucking away I could’ve stayed there and remain whole.

It reminded me of a conversation I had with my dad once, perhaps the first time I asked him for advice in my life. I was 23 at the time, and I had just finished one of the most important relationships of my life (with V.M., which I believe I’ve written extensively about in other versions of you and in other places as well) and, to make matters worse, N.G.—who was probably my best friend at the time—told me, two weeks after V.M. and I had finished our relationship of almost four fucking years, that he was in love with her, and that he was going to pursue her now that our romantic relationship was officially over.

Talk about a fucking disaster.

We were sitting in a shitty fast food restaurant (those with ugly plastic chairs who are uncomfortable as fuck) and he and I were discussing whether we would remain friends going forward. And I’m so stupid (or I was so shocked by the revelation) that I just said “Yes” and I smiled all my way through that most awkward conversation I've ever had, trying to be encouraging as my best friend was about to romantically pursue who I thought, at the time, was the love of my live.

When I got home, however, I felt the uneasiness overcoming me… And I just didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t feel like I could ask my other friends (like J.C. or A.P.) their opinions because, in my estimation, both of them liked N.G. well enough to side with him and his “Why can’t we be friends?” bullshit. So I consulted the only person that I thought had my best interests in mind and could counsel me properly about this situation.

And you know what? My dad delivered. He told me very clearly (and without much floriture, as far as I can remember) that I had two paths ahead of me. If I chose to remain friends with N.G., I would have someone by my side who was clearly not as much of a friend as I thought he was and, in exchange, I would lose all my dignity and self-respect. And, on the other path, I had to withstand the pain of losing both my best friend and the love of my life then, but I got the rest of my life to recover and find better friends—and maybe another love of my life.

It wasn’t much of a choice, but I thought (and still think) it was sound advice, so I took it.

So that’s how I came to decide, once again, to cut ties with the people I love—and thought loved me back—with the faintest idea of surviving this, somehow. In the middle of a pandemic. On the brink of making the biggest decision of my life.

And that was my Thursday, one of saying “goodbye” with a broken heart to places I loved (and helped to build) and others I had a great desire to be a part of.

So, today is Friday and I have only one question on my mind: who the fuck has got time to think about transitioning under the current circumstances?

As a matter of fact, I do.

Because even through all of this shit, at the bottom of this pit I didn’t know I could fall so far into, there’s only one thing sustaining me and giving me life. And it isn’t the prospect of my family lending me their support through all of this, or whatever friends I have left telling me I’m not that person they’re saying I am, no.

It’s the dream of maybe one day transitioning and being myself.

“This is the birth of all hope To have what I once had This life unforgiven It will end with birth”

Until then, with love,

ZZ

[sins-of-the-sea]

-Promise of the Peach Tree-

"Come on, Phi." Ruixiong places some scissors and red paper on Phoebus' lap….

Nada.

Ruixiong exhales. "Phoebus. Make decorations with me."

Nope. No response.

He tries again, this time being far more specific. "I am asking you to cut up shapes on this paper."

Still no.

"….Cut a line on this paper," he specifically says, sliding the paper and scissors closer…

And there it is. Phoebus lowers his head slowly to pick up the scissors and… cut a single line. No shape, no creativity. And once that line is cut, the paper and scissors are put down. The prompt is fulfilled, and nothing else is needed or wanted.

"……..

"FUCKING BULLSHIT!!" Ruixiong yells as he outright flips the table, spilling everything atop of it. "This isn't you, Phoebus!! It's one thing to be Slothful! It's one thing to be useless! Then there is just being devoid of anything and everything that makes you you for our safety and well-being!! I refuse to believe you're in this dulled state wholly because of what Guy did to you, or that you asked to be like this!

"It has to be the Master!! The Master tricked you into accepting this fate! He strung up some cockamamie bullshit that convinced you into thinking hiding away from people who care about you is the best way to keep them safe!! Well, let me tell you one thing, you dunderheaded limp noodle!!

"I am SICK of people hiding themselves away thinking it's for the best of everyone! Do you hear me?! Guy did this all year, and I had to work hard to the bone to get Giovanni out of the cellar in his mind! You think I'm not going to try to coax you out and come back to the living world?! Back to the sun, sky, moon, and stars?! Back to your friends?! Your family?! Your paramour?! Everybody I know you love?!"

No dice.

"………………..

"You're definitely going to be much harder to reach, that's for certain. Well, guess what, Phoebus….

"I'm not giving up on you. I don't know what lies the Master said to you to accept burying your soul within you… but I know they're lies. He lies. He's always lying. And I want you to see the truth. What that truth is… I'll find it for you.

"No matter what it takes."

[magical-glimpse]

I am not seeking any validation. I was wrongly portrayed by someone here. So I just wanted to make my stand clear. That's all. What would I gain by being acknowledged as his tf/fs. Nothing.. Nada.

I think it is a bit harsh to judge a person whom you haven't even met in real life. If being honest felt like I was trying to be a wanna be I don't know what to say.

Earlier I said I was feeling all angsty and heartbeat rising up. I took some time off. I needed some solitude to reevaluate my thoughts. Why would I hate a person who has no idea of my existence? The best thing to do is to detach. I felt better after that.

Everyone is reading only the parts they want to read. It is always the case. He is not even my type. I would rather have chosen Namjoon or yoongi who are actually my type if I wanted to "fantasise" as being a BTS fs . We don't even know if they will ever marry at all. So why JK? I am not someone to fall for all that grandiose.

I don't watch his lives nor his videos nor his interviews. Out of all the lives he has done I have seen maybe one ? Still you say I am obsessed with him. Tell me how?

Aww he is so good looking he sings so good he is good at everything, he is the heartthrob of millions of girls. Let me make him my fs. So that I get some leverage. U think this is the case for me?

Why would I want him as my fs. Is it money? I would rather use mine. I would only want things which I can afford. So pls. Is it the status he holds in society? Again no it is not it. Is it the looks, nope. I am sorry. Also pls don't ever fall for looks guys. It is not everything.

Do I spend hours looking at his photos or videos? again nope. Still there is some undeniable pull. I can't explain. Pls don't start picking me on it. I beg you.

I can't say if I have a connection to him unless I meet him right? I repeat I did not talk like yeah I am his tf what about it. I just wanted to write there (on YouTube) as a warning to other girls who might be having similar experiences to be wary of what they are experiencing and to be mindful and now I am a wanna be??

I don't care if the whole world is against me. If I am truthful to myself it is enough. To people still nitpicking on me I have nothing to say. Pls stop trying to portray someone as this and this when you don't actually know them in person. It is easier to point a finger.

On an ending note I will write a poem here

Can I love you?

Not for what you are;

Not for what you were;

Not for what you are going to be;

Can I love you

For just being you?

Oh! Let us rest for some time,

Letting go of all this chase,

On my mind all day;

Can't free myself from you,

You are the drug that keeps me high;

Baby you are my fantasy,

I am too drunk on your love.

It is a lame poem but I wanted to end this post on a good note. Bye!!

Why do you feel such a need to justify yourself anon ? If you wanted to talk privately with me i can answer not anonymous asks privately and my DMs are open.

The reason why people on the blog currently act about you as if you were a wannabe is because according to all the information you have given them anon, you are one. YOU are the one burying yourself deeper and deeper in your justifications. It would have been enough to just read my PSA silently. If you felt targeted that is between you and your conscience. If you are the person I think you are, i told you specifically what behaviors you had and why they would put you in danger. You chose to act dodgy again, not my problem. You chose to come here multiple times, to justify yourself for no reason, to expect emotional labor from strangers.

Im gonna repeat myself again, but i dont give a shit about what you think or dont think yourself as.I dont give a shit wether you are more attracted to jungkook or yoongi or namjoon. I DONT GIVE A SINGLE FUCK ABOUT YOUR YOUTUBE HISTORY EITHER.

What i care about is your actions. And what you did, anon, is repeatedly come into my asks box bc you felt targeted and wanted to justify yourseld repeatedly for things no one accused you of but your conscience. And if you are the person i think you are, your actions are trying to create "hints" inviting people to think you are jks fs, or at least a bts fs. Repeatedly. I warned you of the risk to be harassed or bullied, of falling into spiritual psychosis or obsession. All the cards are in your hands now.

I will not take this matter publicly anymore. You either come talk privately in my dms or I block you, but I will not play this public,guilty telephone game anymore.

[0shewrites0]

This is how Lucas looks like he was written to me:

FB: "I ship it like FedEX"

ALSO FB: "He's a bombshell though. Are people going to like him? I'm not sure about that."

*Simultaneously messes him up at the same time while making him one of their most layered characters in a list. (I love Gary for that reason too). While also wanting to write him but then not because they already looked like they had an original path and didn't want to stray*

Whenever I'm on his route. I'm always like "What was FB even doing with you" and same goes for the unexplained "Big Daddy" connection like💀

Did they set you up for success or failure my darling? But he still excelled, and I can tell they probably regretted it for that moolah($). Notice how he's the only male non OG who interacts with MC in spinoffs. But at the same time...it kinda makes sense and not just because of his popularity, but because of HOW his attraction to MC was written?

Okay, I have a loooot of opinions right now so buckle up:

1) They really said "let's make him so hot it hurts and tease the players, pretend we're giving them a flawless route" and then they went "oopsie, guess not 😈😈" That's the only way to explain this weird amnesia, right? Sure, it affects other characters too (like the love triangle between Lottie, Gary and MC, when you tell Lottie you won't choose Gary and if you don’t choose him at the recoupling, she will act like she's totally surprised and vice versa). But it doesn't affect anyone as much as Henrik and Lucas. And since Lucas is the only one of the two who almost always says MC's name on day 5, while you really have to put in the work to hear Henrik say your name (you need to basically reject Lucas at every opportunity), I agree and I also think they really didn't know how they wanted to play it. There are so many loose ends and it feels like they never intended to tie them together...

2) The complexity of his character, YES! OMG! Lucas and Gary are by far the only two male characters that have any real character development.

Bobby - no, the same old people pleaser to the end, not really ready for love (which he would realise if he were a little more honest with himself)

Noah - uhm, no. Okay, maybe a little bit, because when you are on his route, he realises that he can't always avoid conflict and that he needs to put himself and what he wants first. But he still needs so much reassurance from MC, while we don't get that. Nada, nothing, zilch. And let's face it, we need to keep the money to ourselves for Noah to have the guts to break up with Hope, and that's sad.

Ibrahim - nope, no character development detected.

Henrik - no but he’s perfect just the way he is (and I’m saying this as a non-Henrik-stan tbf!)

3) SAME! I'm so confused as to what happened to him there. Like why drop the "Big Daddy" line and then just leave it at that? That doesn't make any sense at all. I feel like they had really good ideas and maybe a rough outline, but then they didn't bother with it and just messed him up.

4) There are many things that are completely ooc for Lucas - the most important of which is the proposal. Never would he ever welcome his girlfriend to spring it on him like that, even more so at a Love Island reunion. Secondly, he would be the one to propose because he needs to be in control, and fb forcing us to propose is really cruel (especially because at least Noah - and Marisol, I think? - were like, "Oh, sweet! I wanted to propose too"). Then there's the "Alright, let's start planning the wedding right away," where I was like, bitch what? You've got to be kidding me! So much wasted potential, so much lazy writing, and frankly I'm disappointed that they managed to ruin him for so many players - just think of the way they had him act so pushy and "can't take no for an answer" as the r!Lucas. 💀

5) YOU'RE RIGHT AND I CAN'T BELIEVE I NEVER SAW THAT! At the reunion both Henrik and Lucas are seen BUT at the wedding - and I played it again to check: I married Bobby and chose Chelsea and Gary as best person - there was no trace of Henrik. Lucas was literally the only male OG islander, you're absolutely right! And I’m so baffled by that but then again I’m not, because he is special. In so many ways. The banter between MC and Lucas is just 🤌🏽 and then in the CMM spin-off we had a Lucas that was completely true to his character again. I feel like every time Lucas and MC interact, you feel the electricity between them, even if MC is married to someone else or in a partnership.

This is the proof btw. I didn't give Lucas any special role during the wedding ceremony and he was still there while Henrik was not. Or any of the Casa guys for that matter, lol.

Dang, just thinking about him and how fb could have made him the best written character along with Gary really makes me sad....

[knightofhylia]

Life Overview

It's been a while since I've used this deck and the spirit is rather shy so I did the Life Overview spread for myself for those who like to see before they try tarot!

Me

What potential exits in me now? To be honest, all the potential. Through a mix of good and bad life events (moving, changing jobs) I have a LOT of free time. I definitely am not sitting in the lap of luxury so that is about the only hindrance to the growth. But that being said there is a lot I can do without financial support, my main issue is just choosing a focus (it'sa AuDHD). I'm my own limit and my own roadblock (as usual). Trying to figure out what I want to focus on leads to a lot of reprioritizing and stuff gets thrown out. Currently, I'm still sorting through, creating and aborting projects as they come along.

Family

What have I learned from my visit to the underworld? Well, I have been in recovery of Borderline Personality Disorder for a few months and I'm only getting better. My therapist is extremely proud of the progress I am making. In her 15 years od doing therapy she has only cleared 3 people of being fully recovered from BPD and I intend to be the 4th! Being in the process of recovery has taught me so much. I know when a lot of people see stuff about people overcoming depression or any number of mental illnesses they think 'that can't be me, I'm unfixable' and for 20+ fucking awful miserable years my husband made me get my act together. Recovery feels BAD people. There is nothing glorious about being in your 20s having to fill out emotion charts and hygiene routines and food menus like a preschooler BUT IT WORKED. Now, I can't even remember the last major mood swing I had? it's been years since I last self harmed? I'm comfortable in my body and my friendships? I get along with my family?

And the part about the ancestors is right in light with ancestor month coming in November. I've been pretty hesitant to do ancestor work because of how little information I have, and my history with my relatives. I have been noticing my abusive dad's spirit's influence around and I am nervous about interacting with him spiritually (to be clear, not as a threat, I've asked my guides many times if he is a threat and no, they are filtering his interactions, but that obviously means that they want us to interact).

Friends

lord knows I have had some pretty tumultuous friendships in the past few years. I've been getting dreams about friends from ELEMENTARY school I used to roleplay sonic with and had messy fall outs with, like cmon that was 2 decades ago!! But they are all pointing to the same thing. I've had to cut so many people out, distance myself, it's taken a lot to be able to finally have a comfortable give and take with my friends :) No one is constantly begging me for money anymore, or getting jealous or competitive, we all build each other up and have vast interests and hobbies! during this quarantine after being trapped with my so-called-bestie and having that messy fallout, then being isolated in a new town, the wound has been slow to heal. But I'm at the point where I just don't give a fuck about any of the shit that happened anymore because it's not relevant now. I am definitely seeing my relationships in difference angles from this view.

Love

I think I'm more of the guide in this one lol as a poly marriaged person who has been dating for like 3 years with fucking zero zilch nada to show for it :'). Mostly people who get scared off when we set a single boundary or too immature in too many ways. Not that I haven't dated or had fun relationships but I haven't felt anything NEAR a connection like I have had with my husband even back when we were roomies. As an poly autistic person my platonic and romantic boundary is pretty blurry. Usually like first week of talking to a new friend I'm like damn do I have a romantic crush? Then I'm like nope just new person friend energy. Well it's been a few months and now I'm laying on the floor listening to mitski, hillary duff,and fob so you know they've been haunting my dreams and psyche🙄cringe right? my goofy ass downloaded pokemon go to catch some hearts, and now my husband is playing it with me so it's kinda of a win win either way LOL (hashtag poly life). and to think 7 years ago I was playing Pokemon Go with my roomie so we didn't have to go back to the apartment and deal with my cheating boyfriend and bedbugs.... now we are married 3 years with 4 cats and a mortgage <3 I could not be able to love like I do now without being shown what unconditional love truly with from my spouse <3

Career

Are theyre bonds I still have strong? Oh yes. This card directly correlates to what all my cards across many decks say when I ask them about career. They all talk about community, networks, friends, building things together. At first I interpreted this as 'rely on commissions to live' but now I see it is 'going to events and talking to irl people and bonding with them makes you a good customer to them and therefore they can be a good customer to you when you put yourself out there'. which is why I've been working on more tarot stuff! Another interesting thing about this, with the second question asking if someone can help, I have been considering summoning an ancestor that owes me a LOT and having them to help clear a way for our business. A lot of this is also, a lot of life events happened so the other people who are part of the business are farther away but now we can actually visit each other so working together more is the key.

Although these cards did not appear next to each other I included the duality interpretation because I believe it is still relevant that they both showed up. I think a lot about my legacy since I am doing my part and ending my bloodline :). for me that means preparing for my future reincarnations. I have some ideas for spells I want to do before my death to ensure that my next incarnations have a best astral foot forward! I'm interested in this 'desire for the taboo'. For the two cards to be in the 'career' and 'friends' spot I assume maybe this has to do with the taboo of starting businesses with your friends (which we are doing). Also 'taboo' forms of career could also mean vending and tarot commissions since they are pretty frankly looked down upon as a legit business.

Interpretation:

Life is good! Lots of themes of coming out of darkness, seeing things from different views, and renewal, but not without points to focus on. Friends and Career seem to be my weakest links right now, which both revolve around me interacting socially which like you know how that goes. Lot of things are confirmed here (my crush, my ancestors reaching out, my career path). Looking forward to doing more readings with him!

->Like this spread and deck? Get a free reading from me! <-

[sebastianshaw]

𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍

———  BASICS! ♡

(PEN)NAME:  90smun, 90s, RodentFanatic, RF, Rodent, Ratty, Ratmun, Ms. Rat, Shawmun

PRONOUNS: She/Her

ZODIAC SIGN: Libra Sun, Capricorn Moon, Virgo Rising

TAKEN OR SINGLE: Single

———  THREE  FACTS! ♡

1 -  I’m a quarter Ukrainian via my maternal grandmother. She was first generation, and like many children of immigrants, she wanted to be as “American” as possible. To this end, she absolutely never allowed her children to learn Ukrainian, practice the culture, etc. Since her death several years ago, my mother and I both have been trying to get in touch with this side of our heritage. Each of us does it in our own way according to our areas of interest My mother is mainly concerned with things like our specific family history and family tree, while I’m more focused on the history of Ukraine, as well as general East Slavic folklore, charms, pantheons, etc. 

2 - I’m one of those “cis plus” people who did examine their gender identity to see if they were trans, but concluded I was not. It was when I was 16, and I had read up everything I could about trans people and being trans and gender identity and gender dysphoria and so on in order to do proper research for a transgender character. And I thought, I should probably consider this. So I sat down with myself in the bathtub and thought...and it was just a resounding “nah”. I don’t even think I can say I “questioned” my gender identity at all, because there was no question, the answer was right there loud and plain. I checked back in now and then after, but haven’t in years because I’m pretty sure I’m solidly cis ^_^

3 -  I really want a dog some day and I’ve worked out that a Great Dane is probably the best pick, and many dog people agree. I absolutely LOVE big breed dogs, especially gentle giants that still LOOK intimidating, but I also don’t have the energy to exercise and stimulate most large breeds. But, Great Danes are actually great apartment dogs!

———  EXPERIENCE! ♡

PLATFORMS USED: Tumblr, RP boards, and Discord servers (I am NOT taking more run)

PLOTTING / WINGING IT / MEMES: I love memes and asks galore at random as ONE-TIME interactions, NOT as thread starters. For actual threads I strongly prefer pre-plotted 

———  MUSE  PREFERENCE! ♡

GENDER: I prefer to write as female muses with female muses, but I think it’s pretty obvious that I’m not exclusive about that. But I have my leanings, clearly. 

LEAST FAVORITE FACECLAIM(S): I will NOT write with E.lizabeth O/lsen or M.ichael F.assbender or J.ohnny D.epp FCs. I tend to be pretty lenient about problematic FCs because it’s not like we’re paying the actor or whatever, and they’ve all done or said SOMETHING, but those are my hard limits. There are also some who there’s nothing WRONG with as people I just roll my eyes at them for whatever reason, but I think it would be mean to list them. 

———  FLUFF / ANGST / SMUT! ♡    

FLUFF: Not...really. Shaw’s not well suited to it. Another character like Haven, I’ll happily do it for asks, or talk about it OOC with folks and we understand it’s happening offscreen, but I just don’t dig whole threads of it.

ANGST: I’m not really into angst either. I’m fine with dark things happening in threads, but angst for angst sake just pisses me off. 

SMUT: Nope. Nada. None. Never. I absolutely will do everything leading up to sex itself if it makes sense for the direction of the thread, and I’ll do innuendo and fade to black and so on, but writing the actual act is a total no-go. I don’t even want to write kissing tbh. 

tagged by: @southern-belle-outcasts

tagging:  go for it!

[seidigardensystem]

The Truth About Resistance

Dear Therapists,

Many years ago, I volunteered at a camp for youth that had a zipline that ran right over a large pond. It was everyone’s favorite! Under my charge was a sweet but fiery young girl who wanted to try it but was also a little afraid. I agreed to go tandem with her and her eyes just lit up with excitement. We harnessed ourselves up and got in line. We climbed the wooden stairs and waited for our turn. One by one kids leaped off the platform and zipped straight across the lake and screamed with joy. Then it was our turn.

Fear and panic took over and the little girl burst into tears as we stood on the ledge. She did not want to go. I knew that as soon as we stepped off the ledge she would realize that it wasn’t as scary as it looks. I knew we were safe and that she could do it. But she didn’t. We were all hooked up and the gentlemen in charge gave us a pat on the back to go. For a brief moment, I reconsidered as the tears rapidly swam down her cheeks and she screamed and hollered “no.”

It reminded me of myself, sitting across the way from my inpatient therapist. I wanted help. I didn’t want to be suicidal and full of shame and everything else, but now that I was here, faced with the actual work, fear and panic took over. She had asked me a question and it felt as if shame had filled me up from my toes to my head. According to my therapist, we sat in silence for a full ten minutes before I finally whispered the answer to her question. She said she had never allowed silence to last that long in a session before, but she knew that I was switching between my dissociative identities and she said, “I knew you would say something profound. And you did.”

For my ethics class, we had to watch a movie and critique the therapist. I chose to watch Good Will Hunting and was highly intrigued by the scene where the therapist, Sean, becomes angry with his client Will, for giving “bullshit” answers. He even goes so far as to kick him out of his office.

Then I think of one of my littles (a dissociative identity that is considered a child) who glares at my outpatient therapist when she doesn’t like what she’s hearing. Our arms fold across our chest, we scowl and turn away from her when we don’t want to do what she says or when we disagree with what she’s saying. Another little just says no constantly.

A fellow student recounted a therapy session she experienced during her internship where she felt so flustered and didn’t know what to do. This teenage girl had requested therapy and her grandmother brought her, but now the girl wouldn’t say a peep during her therapy session. She didn’t know how to get her to talk.

All of these scenarios deal with resistance. This is where we, your client, don’t want to go where you, our therapist, want us to go. I don’t need to change. There’s nothing wrong. I don’t want to talk about that. I don’t want to talk at all. No. Nope. Nada. Never. Maybe it makes you want to throw in the towel or kick us out of your office, but that would be a big mistake. Understand, if you’ve come head to head with resistance, then you’ve struck gold. You’ve waded your way through the muck and the mire of all the superficial things we’ve been using to avoid what really matters and found the very thing we need help with the most.

Resistance is your friend, not your enemy. I might be pushing you away with all my might, but in reality I want to pull you in and spill the shameful things hidden inside my heart. That little girl who was afraid to go on the zipline screamed and hollered that she didn’t want to go, but that wasn’t true. She needed me to take the plunge with her. As soon as we leaped off the ledge, her screams and tears ceased. She immediately began laughing and squealing. 

That ten minutes of silence with my inpatient therapist might have dragged on for her, but for me it passed by in a matter of seconds. We were switching and arguing inside about what we would say and what we could reveal. We wrestled with that shame and processed our thoughts and feelings until we finally had the words that could come out. Once the words left our lips in that small little whisper, the shame was able to dissipate. If my therapist had broken the silence or changed the subject, we wouldn’t have had to work through our resistance.

When we give you less than authentic answers it means we’re skirting away from the truth that we don’t want to face. We’re used to being abandoned and given up on, so what makes you any different? Therapy is a game you play to stay out of jail or stay out of the hospital and we know the answers that you need to hear or maybe even want to hear. If you accept anything less than our full authentic self, then why should we be honest with you? Stay with us. Be present with us. Be patient with the process. If we have to trust the process of healing, then you have to trust it too!

So please don’t throw your hands up in frustration. Dig deep with us. Be patient with us. Be a rock as we work through our resistance. Change is scary. Facing the hard things about ourselves is scary. We might kick and scream and holler “no” or dig our heels in and refuse to talk at all. It doesn’t mean that we don’t want to; it means we need you to take the plunge with us.

Sincerely,

A DID client & future therapist

[synonymouswithanonymous]

Alex a commentary as response

Well first of all he has liked comments before, my favorite example of that is when he liked a comment that said "insufferable fans" in reference to people calling his GF toxic etc. There's more examples too. But those comments about him not taking his personal time to scroll and react to comments, sounds like another example of emotional blackmail to me. More examples of that below.

As always this will be long, skip if uninterested! 😊😊

Wait, so now they want him to validate their fanship by liking or interacting on comments more? He's not doing enough for fans? Nothing he does is good enough? His non working free time should be Spent how he sees fit. Lots of celebs don't even have socials, therefore never interact with fans unless it's at an official function. Criticizing him for not doing enough for fans? What else do they want from him? This is unreasonable.

Does he somehow owe anyone anything? Does he owe anyone his free time? NO.

He already sold a performance, which is his job, he doesn't owe fans anything else.

Just bc you/they/us chose to be a fan, and chose/choose to spend our time that way, with no payment, is only 100% on you/us.

Celebrate people, be a fan yes! But to expect something in return for something he never asked for is ridiculous. The same way hating JM bc she's your celeb crushes GF is ridiculous.

God forbid he only interact with fan pages that have been around for ages.

God forbid he only interact with accounts he Actually knows in real life just like everybody else, friends, family, GF, industry people he would want to know. And trust.

God forbid he ignore all the thirsty and quite frankly embarrassing comments from people who treat him as meat. I wonder how many he had to scroll through to find one about his acting (instead of GF abuse/you can walk?/you're not gay? Etc) and not a thirsty or abusive comment. He got threats over his characters actions on vikings, some people are deranged or unable to differentiate between a character and an actor.

God forbid he starts liking multiple comments and then it turns into "why's he ignoring my comments and liking theirs" bullshit. He can't win THE same way JM can't win. He owes fans nada, nothing, zero, zilch. His job is an actor, and he chooses to share some of his life for promo purposes/normal living your life. He does not have to do that, sure it's easier to maintain interest in his celebrity, but he has said before he tries to find a balance that works for him. But why are people asking for more? His free time is his own and God forbid he spend his time on his life and his interests instead of replying to fan comments which would be work imo. There's a reason they charge for con tickets, his time is money. Maybe he'd rather build industry contacts, which would get him in a movie faster than 2million fans (that's a small number, he's an underdog, he is NOT mega famous). Edited to add to this, Courtney C that I linked to in another ask has 1.9 million fans (over 2 mil before murder charges) and she's not exactly mega famous either.

But this is the same crowd reveling in his loss of followers like it's not just bots getting deleted. They think it's due to lack of fan interaction and him getting a GF. Nope. That's most likely not true. Meta has deleted over 39 billion fake/bot accounts in the last two years. I posted an article on it months ago.  There's only about 8 billion people on the planet too so they've been deleting quite a bit. And celebs are targets of bots bc they're famous. I highly doubt anyone with a real acct unfollowed except for maybe a couple hundred immature jealous girls. But that's not a whole lot. Maybe his real follower number is only really a million or less? Maybe it's just the number of likes he gets and that's his real fan number? And he doesn't seem worried about the numbers, he said he's comfortable with his level of fame. Instagram even let's users delete their own bots. Spamguards, instaplus pro, follower manager, there are youtube tutorials to remove inactive users or bots.

Also maybe if people stopped prying so much? So many scammers around too. Didn't he get his Facebook hacked? I don't have a FB so I missed that lol. Maybe if some people didn't overstep and pretend they were married/dating for 4 years/emotional blackmail with talks of self harm if he didn't talk to them, just to emotionally blackmail/torture him. Maybe he'd share more or interact more. Maybe if people weren't vile to his GF? Maybe he has to DO LESS BC SOME people take an inch and try to build 20 miles of lifetime bad movie writing fantasies of railroad for him. They actually fabricated Accounts on IG and "proofs" for a period of 4 years! And that wasn't just a one off loon, there's been more than one (EN)! 😦😦 There's literally at least 2 pages online when you google aha wife/partner that's just a gross lie (a lisa and someone else?) Complete with icky misinformation fantasy. I mean really? REALLY???? They wonder why an article about him, said he was scared of his "rabid fans" and then they wonder why he posts less? How long til they turn this into another round of his GF is to blame bc her "eyebrows show she's evil." 😂😂😂😂 again, the few ruin it for so many.

[krystelprado]

The one where my water broke in a parking lot

Even before my Ob-Gyne gave me a hint of what my labor pains would look like, I have already anticipated million of messy things to happen. I just didn’t expect it to occur in a mall — parking lot.

24th of June ’23, I was scheduled for my last Ob-Gyne visit before giving birth.My actual due date is July 18, by the way. I’m already set on the fact that we are only going in for our final check-up. At least that’s what I thought.

After his shift, RJ picked me up and went with me to my appointment. My doctor saw me as the second-to-last patient. As per usual – we talked about how was I doing the past week, my food intake – which she’s really particular, since my baby’s size is already 3 weeks bigger than her actual gestational age, and my pre-natal meds. The only difference now is that, she has to do internal examination on me. She then asked me to climb up to her examination table and what happened next numbed my ears upon hearing,

"Mommy, you're 3cms na ha, going 4. Ready na kayo ni Daddy, after dito diretso na kayo kuha ng RT-PCR test."

Like, ha doc? July 18 pa ‘di ba tayo? I mean… RJ and I just looked at each other, racing whose face turns pale first. Well, I calmed down. I tried my hardest to calm down because I remembered that RJ hasn’t slept yet, he’s the one driving so he has to be calm and collected. Concluding the appointment, my doctor already gave me the paper works needed for the hospital admission and her personal contact number so I can reach her when my labor pains starts. Wow!

We walked out from the clinic not talking to each other and I don’t like that, so I broke the silence and said, “I’m hungry, I wanna eat.” We then proceeded to our go-to-resto after appointments, ordered the usual and talked about where we’re going to start.

I mean, I packed our bags - RJ and I's hospital clothes and toiletries as well as the baby's bag. But we don't have most of the disposable essentials yet, like my maternity pads, baby's diapers, our hospital packed foods, nada! We're freaking unprepared, ugh!

So anyway, RJ consoled our terrible selves by a plan heading our way to the RT-PCR center first since we can get the necessary disposables on the way.

By the way, this was around 4-5pm. Took us 3 centers to finally get tested since the other 2 were already closed. We were looking to get tested on the nearest center from our house so that before my labor begin, RJ can at least rest for a couple of hours. Nope, the universe had other plans. I had my test from their farthest branch. All these time, I was chatting with my mom and sisters, I was chillin’ then. They encourage me to stay calm because it will still take a while before the labor pain starts kicking in.

When we arrived at the testing center, I am the only one requesting for RT-PCR. The nice lady there told me that the results usually takes 12 hrs. but since they’re not busy, she said they’re gonna run the test now and the results should be e-mailed to me on or before midnight. The long drive was worth it because of that nice lady. On our way home, I started to feel uncomfortable around my lower belly. I think I’m having contractions.

Take note: this was already around 6-7pm, that's the rush hour of Metro Davao, it only means one thing — heavy traffic.

Still calm, I messaged my mom. I described the pain and also told her about the intervals, she confirmed that yes, I am already having contractions! This is the part where it started to go south for me. My pain threshold is like my patience, it’s like nothing in there! I drink pain reliever meds whenever I have dysmenorrhea, I am not strong.

While still stuck on traffic, I kept monitoring my contractions – its intensity and interval. I don’t know if it’s normal but the pacing of it is shifting too fast! Though I am already in pain, in the most composed manner I could, I told RJ to pick up the disposable essentials already because we might be having a baby tonight. He responded while sounding calm but his speed is otherwise. He already kept honking other cars and even went on a red light. Sheesh!

We finally arrived at the mall near our village. I decided to stay in the car while RJ took the supermarket entrance to go get our essentials. This time, my contractions are really bad, I am already crying. It is still 3-4mins. apart but holy molly! The pain! I don’t know where it’s coming from! Everything just aches! My back, my tummy, my lower tummy, my head’s throbbing — everything.

If only I can exaggerate this but it's already worse. To add to the drama, it started raining.

At this point, I already messaged up everyone. I have flooded RJ messages to hurry up. I already messaged my doctor as well that we are definitely having a baby tonight and that I already took my RT-PCR. I have told our family group chat that I can barely take the pain, I’m already crying at the mall’s parking lot. Messaging everyone is just my way of not totally soaking into the madness of the pain and my failed attempt to divert my attention until…

There’s this one contraction that’s so painful and the pressure is pushing through my lower back and belly that gave me a very strong urge to pee. It is the kind of urge I cannot control due to the pressure that I am feeling. Ugly crying and in so much pain, I pushed myself to get out of the car, lo and behold — my bag of water broke!

This kind of released some pressure but it only means, the pain will no longer be tolerable now that my mucus plug is no longer holding it together. Crying and shaking in pain, I stood outside and collected myself again. I can’t be like this while waiting for RJ. I, again, tried to be strong. Took a few deep breathes and went inside.

I updated our family group chat that my bag of water popped. Also messaged our house help to ready our bags and wait for us at the gate to easily load everything in the car. After a few minutes of settling myself back in the car, RJ arrived. Told him the news and now he can’t stop asking me if I’m already in so much pain. Like, huh?! Obviously! But of course, I didn’t tell him that. I just told him to get our things at the house and bring us to the hospital faster.

The rest of my giving birth story will follow on a separate post because I hate it when it’s too long like this. My eyes can never stand scrolling back and forth to proof-read everything. lol!

PS: There’s a funny side note on this story. Remember when my water broke? After that, I didn’t go back inside the car right away, I was like nailed on the spot where my water broke and dripped down my legs. I was thinking what should I use as a wet cover for my seat. As I was thinking what could there be at the back seat I could use, I can’t help but notice the truck driver beside where our car is parked. The whole time, he was looking at me pala and his face was so shocked at what he just saw! Lol! Sorry Kuya, my water just broke lang naman. Yun lang naman. lol. I didn’t say anything though, I left him at that shocked phase and grabbed a-week-old jacket of RJ at the back and covered my seat. To kuya, I know nag-deliver ka lang there sorry naman to shock you. Haha!

[stressforu]

slipping through my fingers all the time

ask: can i please ask a fic about megumi experiences with you and satoru? —🪼

platonic relationship except for gojo x fem!reader, crying, slight angst

a/n: my apologies ! I accidentally posted the fic without editing it. | home |

❛ 2007 ❜

the first time you saw Megumi, he looked cold his eyes were dull, but there was a tint of shimmer in his eyes when you looked at him. his hair was spiky, and his eyes were raven. he was a kid who lacked the love of his parents.

he was carried by Satoru, it was funny the kid was resisting. you took him with happy arms, Satoru explained that the kid was supposed to end up in the Zenin clan, and you took him knowing the pain and torture of being in the Zenin Clan.

unlike Megumi, Tsumiki was helpful with the chores, and in the kitchen. It took a while to persuade her to just play with her toys, you could handle it. it was kinda sad, that Tsumiki had to suffer the burden of taking care of Megumi every day despite the lack of food and clothing they had.

"I swear to god, SATORUU STOP BUYING NEW CLOTHES EVERY DAY!" you shouted at him, seeing the numerous clothing brands that sat beside him on the couch. on his right was Megumi, eating a popsicle with a snarl to sit beside Satoru.

"They need more clothes, baby, and they deserve it right, Megumi?" Gojo replied as he pushed up his falling glasses from his nose bridge. poking Megumi's chubby cheeks.

"Pull off, you're annoying me," Megumi said, he stood up from the couch and left Gojo with his mouth open wide and a shocked expression plastered on his face. he moved to Tsumiki who just chuckled, quite enjoying the scenario.

" HEY! ARE ALL KIDS LIKE THIS? "

" says a guy who acts like a kid. "

❛ 2011 ❜

Megumi officially turned 10, and his birthday was supposed to be 'not so stressful' but the problem was, Megumi wanted it homemade. okay, you deserve it because you kept on bugging him to ask for a wish since he was 6 but he always disregarded wishes. So to stop you from babbling, he asked for homemade cake.

It was supposed to be easy but there had to be someone who had to ruin the plan you made up, it was Satoru Gojo. oh, how you want to gouge his eyes out whenever he dips a finger in the batter.

" 'toru, stop dipping your fingers, please." you sigh, exasperatedly. you were a mess, a literal mess. you had flour on your cheeks, your hands were reddish from the intense mixing, and your clothes were smudged with cocoa powder.

" can't help it, angel. i just love your food " satoru coos, moving close to you and wrapping his arms snakily around your waist. he kissed your nape simultaneously.

" 'gumi's coming home any minute, 'toru, and I haven't baked it yet. " you kicked out satoru from your kitchen and went to put the batter into the pan.

"unfair, hmpf!" satoru pouted, marching away from the kitchen, and just pouting from the couch.

"tsumi', baby can you please set the table up? I'd appreciate it." You looked at Tsumiki, she was playing with her dolls. An obedient girl she is, she nodded smiling at the idea that she was helping.

time flew by, and Megumi's back from school. wearing that blank face he always wears every day. taking off his shoes before he went to the door, and while putting them on the shoe rack, it was deafeningly silent. No banter between you and satoru, and no echoes of Tsumiki talking to her dolls thinking the dolls are alive.

this was new, he went to Tsumiki's bedroom which was just beside his room, no Tsumiki. He went to the master's bedroom where you usually sleep, nothing, and lastly, he hoped Satoru was there. It was new, he was wishing Satoru was home. Nope, nada.

Tears formed in Megumi's eyes, a little kid who cowered in fear thinking that all of you were gone and abandoned him. And before his tears fell, he heard a quaint 'clack' of a lighter. There was everyone, with party hats on top, and you, Satoru, and, Tsumiki were singing happy birthday.

" don't do that again ! " he sniffled, running up to hug everyone.

❛ 2016 ❜

puberty hit Megumi like a train if you think young Megumi is too sassy, meet teen Megumi. An older version who's more sassy, more moody, and shoots a glare or two to everyone. Though, he's somehow still the same, only a fraction of young Megumi stayed.

As Megumi ages, you fear he is gonna experience the harsh reality of humans who see curses. Satoru was training with him every day, he fought with him every day in hand-in-hand combat at least 3 times a day. Satoru fears that Megumi would be too naive about basic combats.

It's a quiet evening, you sit on your vanity chair applying your daily skincare, and Satoru is behind you with a toothbrush in hand.

" you think 'gumi would be okay within Jujutsu High's school grounds? " You ask, you're worried time flew by fast that after 2 years he would be staying full time in Jujutsu High.

You'll miss his presence, as a person who took care of Megumi since he was in 1st grade, you can't seem to accept that the boy who once snuck out of his room to cuddle up with you because of a nightmare was now a high school student.

" Pretty, I understand your worries, but we can't just keep him locked off of his abilities, he needs the school. I can look out for him, you know. There's nothing to be worried about, babe."

" I know, I know but— I'm worried, what if, what if he gets into dangerous missions with a special curse, or—... or—" Your mind went blank, you hadn't even noticed a tear staining the mask you had on your face.

Satoru quickly hugged you, kneeling on one knee and reassuring you he'd only agree with Megumi on missions that he could handle. You cried on Satoru's shoulders.

Unbeknownst to you, Megumi heard everything. He has been listened to ever since the word 'Jujutsu High' was mentioned, he bit his lip. He never felt a mother's love ever since he grew a conscience.

He made a promise. He swore to never ever make you cry and he would always train hard.

❛ 2018 — SEASON I TIMELINE ❜

Life was turning downhill, Tsumiki was in a coma, and you were alone. Rotting your life away on your couch. The only thing you look forward to was Megumi coming home every weekend.

Well, you felt lonely, and you were happy because Satoru was home every night except, he would have occasional business trips which made you sad. You read an article about the joys of motherhood, and even though Megumi and Tsumiki aren't your biological children, you helped rear their lives.

Today was the day you were looking for, It was Saturday, and Megumi was home till tomorrow. You cooked up Megumi's favorite dishes and changed his quilts into a jet-black color, which made you question why Megumi liked the color that looked like all the colors were sucked out.

Megumi was home, he sighed as he stepped inside. He missed the smell of home, It was like all the stress was building up and disappeared when you hugged him. Megumi never says this to anyone, but you felt like a mother to him. He cherished every moment he had with you.

" 'gumi, I miss you... " You laughed, did he just grow 2 centimeters this week? "It's only been a week." He nonchalantly replied, trying to hide his soft side in a facade.

"how's jujutsu tech? Anything new?" You asked, sitting him down on your couch. He told all about his days the past few weeks. He shared stories about the new first years, and how he beats some curses effortlessly.

It was heartwarming, to hear what had happened. It made you look back on Megumi's younger years when he often talks crap about everybody in his school and now he's friends with two unique students.

(damn, you raised him so well)

[rancim]

3/29

Had known that my mother was never the type to celebrate material excess, would never gush over me buying her a house or car or jewelery, was not the type. So to express my admiration for her many sacrifices, for her having raised me well, knew that the best I could do was to give her my time, to relieve her stresses in any way that I knew how.

This is what I've learned about sacrificing your time for others: that what is to be demanded from you is your state to remain unchanging. Stability, the idea that you can be relied on to be expended, meaning that to develop anything outside of that obligation tenders that reliability moot if it meant you weren't readily available. So no career developments, no relationships, no development of family, no new hobbies that would ask for you to leave your bubble, no other endeavours to expand the definition of self, because to do so would disturb the reliability of one's sacrifice, would demand the usage of time outside of obligation. Nope, nah, nada.

Life ultimately is suffering, but all of us work together to relieve that suffering.

Once a couple years ago I had met up with old friends I hadn't talked to for a very long time and seated at that table, I listened to them detail the many ways each of them had changed through developments in their social/financial/cultural lives. I had nothing much to say nor contribute. One of them said that "oh, you never change, it's comforting." In that instant I felt that my current self was like one of those dinosaurs of television that had survived for decades, something continuously airing without much of anything new to it's storytelling, a thing that doesn't attract new viewers and bled out all of it's oldest viewers until it was left with only the most staunch watchers, those that wanted to stay because it didn't change, because it served the same beats week after week after week.

Ah, oh, oh no.

I am stuck in the hospital cafeteria and it is a familiar sight and I looked at the doors and past the doors and understood suddenly what it meant to stare at something in the distance without recognition, because the edges of my vision began to blur and I began to be besought by thoughts, loud and unpausing, of panic and anxiety at my unchanging state.

I think a lot of the earliest friends that I have had and have lost throughout the years and begin to feel blue. I do this constantly. I think about reaching out but remain timid, because I am afraid that in my unchanged state, talking to them, so vastly changed, knowing this because my monitoring of their social media is constant, committal, habitual, that they would in their matured states find me unrelatable, awkward to be around. I don't talk to much of anyone these days. While walking to my car in the hospital's parking lot, I saw a family walking ahead of me. I thought about how I would never catch up to figures in the distance unless I were willing to run, to be braver, run hard, run my hardest.

Ah, oh, oh no.